


love language

by dickpuncher420



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickpuncher420/pseuds/dickpuncher420
Summary: It’s after the third time that Zuko calls for a time out to spit his hair out of his mouth that Sokka asks, “Do you want me to braid that for you?”—There are entire stories that can be told through a person's hair. Zuko would know better than anyone else.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 165
Kudos: 4741





	love language

**Author's Note:**

> happy zukka renaissance everybody! i've been so hyped that i'm posting another fic after a week instead of, like, 6 months
> 
> the sex scene isn't explicit, but if you'd rather skip it, it starts at "The first time that Zuko asks Sokka to pull his hair in bed [...]" and ends at "The Southern Water Tribe is as cold as it ever is [...]".

_“She’s gonna save me_  
_Call me baby  
_ _Run her hands through my hair”_

– _Jackie and Wilson,_ Hozier

It’s after the third time that Zuko calls for a time out to spit his hair out of his mouth that Sokka asks, “Do you want me to braid that for you?”

They’re in the palace training grounds for one of their usual sparring sessions. It’s not even midday yet, but the sun is beating down on them with an intensity usually reserved for the longest days of summer. Despite being a firebender, Zuko thinks that he must have somehow gotten heatstroke or _something,_ because there’s no way that he heard Sokka properly.

“What?” he says.

Sokka looks as if he’s already regretting his words. If he weren’t already flushed from exertion, Zuko is sure that he’d be blushing.

“I, uh, your hair,” Sokka says, and gestures vaguely. He’s looking anywhere but at Zuko’s face. “I can braid it for you, if you want.”

“You know how to braid?” Zuko says without thinking.

Sokka chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Oh, yeah. I used to braid Katara’s hair for her all the time when we were kids. I’d say I’m pretty decent at it.”

“Oh…” Zuko flounders. This is just about the last thing he expected from Sokka. “Um, sure?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Sokka says quickly. “You don’t seem very enthusiastic about it, and I don’t want to, like, force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.” He’s fiddling with the hilt of his sword, eyes downcast. He doesn’t show it, not outright, but Zuko has the feeling that this is something important to Sokka, something close to his heart. If he doesn’t accept now, he doesn’t think that Sokka is ever going to offer again—and spirits, Zuko isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to get closer to Sokka, especially one offered up so willingly.

“No, I…I don’t mind,” Zuko says. “I’ve just never had my hair braided before.”

“Really?” That gets Sokka to meet his eyes. He raises his eyebrows. “But your hair is so…luscious.”

Zuko ducks his head, trying to hide the way his face flushes. It’s not even a compliment, really, but try to tell that to his traitorous little heart. “It’s, uh, not a very common hairstyle in the Fire Nation,” he mumbles.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Sokka says, clucking his teeth. Suddenly reinvigorated, he grabs Zuko by the arm and pulls him over to a wooden bench on the edge of the training ring. “Okay, sit.”

Zuko sits.

Sokka carefully lays his sword down on the ground beside them, and then comes around to stand behind Zuko. Zuko fits his dao together and lays them in his lap, trying not to fidget. Sokka is so close that he can practically _smell_ him.

“Can I?” Sokka asks quietly, and Zuko feels a light touch against his head. He swallows.

“Yeah.”

He’s not wearing the Fire Lord hairpiece, just a simple metal band to keep his topknot in place, but Sokka is still incredibly careful as he works it free. Zuko’s hair is long enough now that he can’t keep all of it in the topknot, and half of it lies loose against his shoulders—an acceptable hairstyle normally, but less than ideal for sparring.

Sokka pulls the hairpiece free with a final tug, and the rest of Zuko’s hair spills out in a thick black curtain. Zuko blows a few stray strands out of his eyes, worried that Sokka will notice the way his hands are trembling if he tries to brush them away.

“Wow,” Sokka breathes. He runs his fingers through Zuko’s hair, from his scalp all the way to the ends; Zuko tries not to shiver. “You have a lot of hair.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Sokka laughs. “It’s definitely a lot more than when I first met you, d’you remember? That hairstyle was _atrocious.”_

“I was _sixteen,”_ Zuko whines. “Everyone makes bad decisions at sixteen.”

“Hm, yeah, you’re right. Remember that time I tried to grow a moustache?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Sokka laughs, and Zuko does too, feeling suddenly lighter. This is easy, this is familiar: the banter that comes naturally between them, the good-natured ribbing and teasing. That nervous feeling that he always gets around Sokka these days is still there, of course, but it’s easier to ignore like this, with the reminder that Sokka is, above all, his closest friend.

(There are days, though, where Zuko thinks that his feelings are too big for his body, that he’ll surely burst with the effort of holding them in. But the thought of losing what they have, what they’ve spent the past two years building together, is enough to keep his mouth shut.)

“Hold this,” Sokka says, and plops the hairpiece into Zuko’s waiting hand. He’s careful as he separates Zuko’s hair into three parts, never tugging too hard when the strands knot together and snag. The feeling of his nails against Zuko’s scalp is heavenly, and Zuko lets his eyes fall shut. It’s so easy to imagine that they’re not in the dusty training ring—that instead they’re in Zuko’s chambers, or maybe the private gardens, sharing a tender moment as Sokka gently works his fingers through Zuko’s hair. It’s a dangerous fantasy, but Agni, Zuko has wanted this, wanted _Sokka_ for so long—he can at least let himself have this moment.

They’re quiet for a bit, the only sounds the distant clamour of the palace and Sokka’s measured breathing behind him as he works. There’s a question that Zuko desperately wants to ask, and eventually his curiosity gets the best of him.

“So who taught you how to braid hair?” Zuko asks, and then, because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know when to shut his mouth, adds, “I never would have pinned you as the type of person to be into that.”

Sokka hums, sounding unbothered. The rhythm of his hands doesn’t so much as falter. “One of the women in the village, Nanouk. She taught me how after my mom died. Katara was too young to braid her own hair, and my dad was too busy after, well, everything, so the job fell to me.”

“What about your grandmother? Couldn’t she have done it?”

Sokka snorts. “Oh, she tried, but Katara always complained that she pulled too hard and would start crying. Plus she had trouble with her fingers, with the cold and everything, so it was hard for her.” Sokka shrugs, and it pulls a little on Zuko’s braid. “I didn’t mind, honestly. I liked doing it, and it was like, me and Katara’s thing, you know? Well, until she got old enough to braid it herself.”

Zuko hums absently. The feeling of Sokka’s hands in his hair is almost intoxicating; he feels like he’s floating on a cloud. “That sounds nice,” he mumbles, too blissed out to think of anything better to say.

“It was.” Sokka’s voice is fond. “Don’t tell Katara I told you this, but when we were older and she had a bad day and needed cheering up or whatever, she’d always come and ask me to braid her hair for her.”

Zuko smiles. “Cute.”

“Yeah.” Sokka gives Zuko’s braid one final tug, and then smoothes his hands over Zuko’s head, flattening any flyaway strands. Zuko tries not to melt. “There, you’re done. D’you have a hair tie, by any chance?”

“No.”

“Here, you can use mine, then.”

Zuko turns his head and watches out of the corner of his eye as Sokka pulls the leather band out of his wolftail, his hair spilling out to brush against his cheekbones. Zuko’s heart thuds dangerously his chest, and he quickly turns away before Sokka catches him staring.

Sokka loops the tie around the end of Zuko’s braid with practiced movements, and then holds out his hand. “Hairpiece, please.”

“What for?” Zuko says, but hands it over anyways.

“For me, dummy. You think I’m gonna spar with my hair loose? I saw how badly that worked out for you.”

Sokka comes around to stand in front of Zuko, arms raised as he works his hair into the golden band. Zuko forcibly wrenches his gaze away from the flex of Sokka’s biceps, and stares down at his swords in his lap. He can just barely make out his reflection in the polished metal; he twists his head to the side, eyeing the way the braid falls over his shoulder. It’s…different, but he doesn’t dislike it.

“Watcha lookin’ at?” Sokka says. Zuko starts and looks up. Sokka has worked his hair into a topknot of his own, the golden hairpiece flashing brightly in the sun, and he stares curiously down at Zuko. Zuko suddenly finds it very hard to swallow.

“Nothing,” Zuko says. He can feel his cheeks going red. “Just trying to see how it looks.”

“Hmm.” Sokka steps back and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing Zuko up and down. He tilts his head and shoots Zuko a lopsided grin. “The braid is a good look on you. It’s cute.”

Zuko thinks that if he blushed any harder he would probably pass out. “Thanks.”

Sokka’s grin widens, and then he holds out his hand for Zuko to take. “You’re welcome. Now let’s get back to it, jerkbender. It’s time for your regularly scheduled ass kicking.”

“You wish,” Zuko says, and takes Sokka’s hand to pull himself to his feet. His skin tingles where they touch.

Sokka laughs and stoops to pick up his sword, then backs away towards the centre of the training ring, beckoning mockingly. What a sight he is to behold: all bright eyes, cocky grace, radiant in the late morning sun. Like a hawk moth drawn to a flame, Zuko is helpless to do anything but follow.

—

“Sokka?”

Zuko knocks on the door to Sokka’s chambers—an unnecessary formality, at this point, but Zuko was raised to always be polite. When there’s no answer, he pushes the door open, revealing an empty room. There’s a tray of half-eaten snacks on the low table, though, and the torches on the wall are lit, meaning that he’s somewhere nearby.

“Sokka?” he calls again.

“In here,” comes the answer from Sokka’s private bathroom.

The door is ajar, but Zuko hesitates before going in. He knows that Sokka enjoys the freedom that comes with having his own private bathroom, and he doesn’t really want to walk in on Sokka on the toilet again.

“Can I come in?”

He hears Sokka laugh. “Yeah, it’s safe. Don’t worry.”

Zuko walks in and then immediately pulls up short. He doesn’t really know what he was expecting to find in there, but Sokka, shirtless, with a knife in his hand as he stares intently into the mirror was definitely not it. Sokka catches sight of Zuko’s reflection and grins.

“What in the world are you doing?” Zuko asks. He decides to keep his distance, just to be safe.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Sokka waves the knife around pointedly, and Zuko sucks in a sharp breath. Does this man have no regard for basic knife safety? “I’m cutting my hair!”

“With a knife?”

“Of course. That’s how we always do it in the Water Tribe.”

Sokka stops flailing the knife around, and Zuko deems it safe to move closer. He plasters himself against Sokka’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist and planting his chin on his shoulder. Sokka’s skin is warm beneath his hands.

“You know we have royal hairdressers who can cut your hair for you, right?” Zuko says.

Sokka turns in his arms and loops his arms over Zuko’s shoulders, thankfully dropping the knife before he does so. He leans in to press a kiss to Zuko’s lips; Zuko returns it eagerly, his heart fluttering happily in his chest.

“Yeah, but they’d get it all wrong,” Sokka says. He nuzzles against Zuko’s cheek. “They’d probably try to give me some weird Fire Nation-y hairstyle.”

“I’m sure you’d still look handsome as ever, even with a weird Fire Nation hairstyle,” Zuko says.

Sokka pulls back to grin at him. “Aw, babe. You think I’m handsome?”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Sokka says, and it’s a stupid line, but Zuko kisses him anyways.

It still surprises Zuko, how easy it is, being with Sokka. It makes sense, of course, given how well they always worked together before, but somehow he’d never expected it all to just fall into place so naturally. It’s been barely a month, but they move together like they’ve been doing it for years: it’s in the way that Sokka will steal a kiss at any moment, so small and simple, just because he feels like it. It’s in the way that they instinctively gravitate towards each other in bed, so that even if they fall asleep on opposite ends of the mattress, by the morning they’ll be tangled up in each other, pressed together from head to toe. And it’s in the way he feels himself relax when he looks at Sokka, the tension melting out of his shoulders with a single glance, because being with him is just so _right_.

Before, he’d hardly let himself imagine what it would be like, to have Sokka. And now that he _does_ have him, he can hardly believe that he’d managed to go so long without him.

“Really, though,” Zuko says once they break apart. “I think they’d do an okay job if you just asked. I can even put in a word to make sure they actually listen to you.”

Sokka leans back a bit and cuts his eyes to the side, avoiding Zuko’s gaze. “I don’t know,” he says, “it’s just—I’ve always done it myself, or had my family help me with it, when I was younger.” He fiddles absently with the collar of Zuko’s robe. “It’s just kind of a Water Tribe thing, you know? And I don’t want to lose it.”

Zuko feels abruptly very stupid. “Oh. Sorry, I—I should’ve known.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” Sokka says. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind Zuko’s ear, and then cups his cheek. “We’ve just still got stuff to learn about each other.”

Zuko leans his face into Sokka’s touch. “Okay.”

Sokka presses a kiss to his forehead, and then moves to untangle himself from Zuko’s arms, but Zuko tightens his grip, reeling him back in.

“You’ve gotta let me go, babe,” Sokka says bemusedly. “I’m not done.”

“Wait, I…” Zuko trails off, flushing with embarrassment. He focuses his gaze on the dip of Sokka’s collarbones, just beneath his whalebone necklace. “Do you…want help? Since you said your family used to help you out, and all…”

Sokka’s finger curls under Zuko’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. Sokka’s face has gone all soft and dopey, and he smiles fondly at Zuko.

“You’re so cute, you know that, right?” Sokka says, and Zuko blushes even harder. Sokka kisses his nose. “I’d love it if you helped.”

He leads Zuko away from the large mirror above the wash basin and over to the vanity in the corner of the bathroom. He sits himself down on the stool and then holds out the knife for Zuko, hilt first. Zuko takes it with a dubious glance.

“Do you really always use a knife to cut your hair?” he asks.

Sokka laughs. “Well, we had a special knife for it back in the Water Tribe, but when I was on the road with Aang and Katara I had to make do with my weapons, so I kind of got used to it. Besides, I think I lost my razor,” he adds with a sheepish grin.

“I’m sure we could find you another one.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. As long as you don’t cut my head off I think we’ll be fine.”

“What about an ear?”

“Katara always said I had big ears anyways, I’m sure they could do with a little trim.”

Zuko snorts, and he catches Sokka grinning at him in the mirror. “You’re so stupid,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sokka says. “Stupid _handsome.”_ He wiggles his eyebrows.

Zuko rolls his eyes and tries to focus on the task at hand. Sokka’s already started shaving the sides of his head, but there are some uneven patches in a few places, and he hasn’t even gotten to the back at all.

“Okay, hold still,” he says, and, holding his breath, he carefully scrapes the blade across Sokka’s scalp. A smattering of hair flutters down to land on Sokka’s bare shoulders.

Shaving the sides of Sokka’s head is easy enough—almost soothing, if Zuko is being honest. He loses himself in the rhythm of it, the simple repetitive motion, gently tilting Sokka’s head this way and that to get a better angle. Sokka seems to be enjoying it too, if the relaxed expression on his face, eyes closed in contentment, is any indication.

The hard part comes when it’s time to trim the long hair on the top of Sokka’s head. Zuko grabs a handful of it, eyeing the thick strands in apprehension.

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I might mess it up,” he warns.

Sokka shrugs. “Whatever, I trust you. You’ll probably do a better job than I would, anyways.”

“You’re not allowed to get mad at me when it turns out ugly.”

“Mm, no promises.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go get some scissors?”

“Just cut my damn hair, Zuko.”

Zuko does his best to trim the hair as evenly as possible, but it’s hard with a knife. As he saws at the strands, watching them part easily before the blade, he bites his lip and prays silently to Agni.

“Okay, I think I’m done,” Zuko announces after a few nerve-wracking minutes. His palms are sweating, and he tries to wipe them discreetly on his robes.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Why did you have your eyes closed?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Sokka says, and opens his eyes. Zuko watches them widen almost immediately. “Oh, wow.”

Zuko cringes.

“I…huh,” Sokka says, and immediately bursts into a fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry!” Zuko wails. He can feel his face heating with embarrassment, and he does his best to disappear into the collar of his robe like a turtle hare.

“No, no!” Sokka turns around on the stool and grabs Zuko’s wrists, carefully avoiding the knife still clutched in his hands. “Zuko, I love it.”

“It’s _horrible,”_ Zuko says. The uneven strands hang loosely around Sokka’s face, ending for the most part just above his cheekbones. It’s choppy and messy, and it looks a bit like Sokka got into a fight with a sabre-tooth moose lion and lost. Zuko kind of hates that Sokka still manages to make it look good, somehow.

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Sokka says. He pulls himself to his feet and ends up nose to nose with Zuko. He’s still smiling, his eyes lit up with laughter. “Zuko, really. I love it.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Zuko mumbles. He wants to scowl, but Sokka’s smile is infectious, and he can’t quite manage it.

“Maybe. It’s not that bad, though, and you won’t even be able to tell once I tie it up.”

“I’m sure the royal hairdressers could fix it…”

“No,” Sokka says emphatically. “I’m leaving it like this.”

Zuko couldn’t stop the grin that breaks across his face even if he wanted to. “You’re such a moron.”

“And you’re a terrible barber,” Sokka says, and kisses him.

—

The first time that Zuko asks Sokka to pull his hair in bed, Sokka goes very, very still.

“You want me to…what?” Sokka asks, his voice hoarse.

Zuko buries his face even further into the pillows, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He can’t look at Sokka’s face when he says this. He takes a deep breath, and another, and then repeats, more clearly, “I want you to pull my hair. Please.”

It’s not like this is some sort of lust-induced impulse decision. This is something that Zuko has thought about—a lot—and that he knows he wants.

It’s not completely baseless, either. Sokka has a tendency to get a little overenthusiastic whenever Zuko goes down on him, and the way that he’ll grab at Zuko’s hair, unintentional though it may be, never fails to make Zuko feel like his entire body has been set alight.

And so he turns his head to look over his shoulder, stares Sokka dead in the eye, and whispers, “Please, Sokka.”

Sokka gives a full body shudder that Zuko can _feel_ , and he says, “Yeah, yeah, okay. I can do that.”

One of Sokka’s hands leaves Zuko’s waist and skims up his back, fever-hot, to tangle itself in Zuko’s long hair. He winds the strands around his fingers, gives a hesitant tug, and—

Zuko can’t help it. He whines.

“Spirits…” Sokka breathes. It sounds very distant to Zuko’s ears.

“Keep going,” Zuko gasps.

Sokka begins to move again, and pulls Zuko’s hair, a little harder this time. Zuko does his best to muffle the embarrassing sounds he’s making into the pillow.

It feels so good he thinks he might cry. Zuko feels like a string, pulled taut, on the edge of snapping. Like he’s being consumed, burning from the inside out. Sokka pulls on his hair again, just this side of pleasure-pain, and Zuko cries out, arches his back, and tries not to set the sheets on fire.

—

The Southern Water Tribe is as cold as it ever is, even in the endless days of summer. Zuko huddles deeper into his parka and squints his eyes against the biting wind. The sun glints harshly off the snow, flattening the landscape into a blank white slate that stretches all the way out into the horizon. Zuko has no idea where they’re going, but he trusts Sokka’s instincts, and so he tries to force himself to relax…well, as much as one can relax amid the continuous bumping of the sled.

Truth be told, this hadn’t exactly been a part of Zuko’s plan. He’d been picturing something a bit more modest—maybe a romantic dinner, and then a nice little stroll around town—but when Sokka had suggested that they take a day off from the political negotiations to have some fun for themselves (“I can’t believe I’ve never taken you polar dog sledding before. How have I never taken you polar dog sledding before?”), Zuko hadn’t been able to say no.

He’s more than glad for the distraction, though. It’s harder to focus on the horrible knot of nerves in his stomach as the sled whips across the ice, the polar dogs kicking up snow in their wake. He can still feel the headpiece burning a hole through his pocket, despite all the thick layers of the parka, but it’s easier to ignore like this.

“We’re almost there!” Sokka shouts, his voice mostly stolen by the wind.

_Almost where?_ Zuko wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to expose his face to the cold any more than he absolutely has to. He cranes his head around as best he can, trying to make out some sort of landmark in the barren terrain.

After a few more minutes, a massive outcropping of ice suddenly rises up out of the landscape, seemingly out of nowhere. Zuko blinks incredulously, trying to figure out where in the world it came from. Sokka guides the sled towards it, the polar dogs slowing to a walk as they approach.

“Whoa,” Sokka calls out, and the polar dogs come to a halt in the shadow of the outcropping, panting heavily. The sled jostles as Sokka hops off the back, and then makes his way around to Zuko’s side. He leans over him and grins, his face wind-bitten and bright.

“You doing okay there, buddy?” he says, and holds out a gloved hand to help Zuko up. Once Zuko is on his feet, he pulls the collar of Zuko’s parka down, presses a quick peck to his lips, and then just as quickly fits the collar back up over his chin before Zuko even has any time to react.

Zuko blinks at him in surprise, and Sokka just laughs and claps him on the shoulder as he moves past him to fetch some supplies from the sled. Sokka pulls out a bundle of pelts and a large sack, and then goes around to each polar dog, patting and praising them for their hard work. Zuko’s heart squeezes warmly in his chest as he watches Sokka carefully lay down a pelt for each polar dog to lie on and feed them some dried meat from the sack, so gentle and fond as he does so. There’s something about seeing the genuine care and affection that Sokka has for the animals, the loving way he treats them, that eases the worry in Zuko’s gut and tells him that he’s making the right choice.

“Hey, Zuko, d’you mind melting some snow for them to drink?” Sokka says as he squats next to a polar dog, scratching it vigorously beneath its chin. “Make sure it’s clean. There’s a bowl in the sled you can use.”

“Sure,” Zuko says, snapping back into focus, and heads off to do just that.

Once Sokka is satisfied that the polar dogs have been properly fed and watered, and are comfortably set up for their rest, he grabs a pack from the sled and slings it over his shoulder, gesturing for Zuko to follow. They head over to the base of the ice outcropping, and upon closer inspection, Zuko can see that it’s actually a massive rock, roughly the size of a small Fire Nation ship, and almost completely covered in snow.

“It’s a nunataq,” Sokka explains. “Basically the peak of a mountain poking out through the ice. We use this one as a rest stop on our longer hunting trips.”

He leads Zuko around to the far side, where Zuko can just make out a small path that winds around the side of the nunataq, leading up to a little rocky ledge. Sokka begins to pick his way up the path, choosing his footholds carefully, and Zuko follows, doing his best to mimic Sokka’s steps.

Once they reach the ledge, Zuko realizes that it actually is a lot bigger than he thought. It extends back into the rock, creating a large flat shelf, conveniently shielded from the freezing wind.

“It’s amazing, right?” Sokka says. Zuko turns to find him gazing out across the frozen landscape, face open with wonder. He whistles. “I’ll never get tired of this view.”

“It’s beautiful,” Zuko agrees, and moves to stand next to him. The view really is spectacular: the pristine white ice seems to stretch out endlessly until it collides with the abrupt blackness of the sea, and, beyond that, the spotless cobalt sky. Zuko is having trouble appreciating it, though, his nerves having returned full force. He’s hyperaware of the weight of the headpiece tucked into an inner pocket of his parka, the hard edge of it against his ribs. He glances at Sokka out of the corner of his eye and reminds himself, once again, that he is making the right decision.

Besides, it’s not really like he can back out of it now. He’s spent so much time convincing his advisors that this is a viable idea, and he’d gotten Hakoda’s approval only yesterday. All he has to do is take that final step.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” Sokka says, startling Zuko out of his introspection. He grabs Zuko by the arm and pulls him towards the rock face behind them. There’s a sizeable crevice in the stone, and Sokka lets go of Zuko’s arm so that he can squeeze his way inside, beckoning for him to follow.

They emerge into a cave. Zuko pulls off his glove and lights a fireball in the palm of his hand, illuminating the space. It’s not big, by any means, barely the size of a small igloo, but the ceiling stretches up far enough that it’s not claustrophobic. Furs and hunting tools are stacked neatly against the walls, along with some bedrolls and cookware. There’s a small stone lamp in the middle of the floor that Sokka kneels next to and begins to fill with some blubber from his pack; Zuko waits for him to finish, and then lights it without a word.

“So,” Sokka says, “what do you think?” He extends his arms out to the side, showing off the cave with pride.

“I love it,” Zuko says, and means it. In all honesty, Zuko isn’t particularly wowed by the cave itself—but the way that Sokka’s eyes gleam in the low firelight, the smile on his face as he shares this part of his history with Zuko… Zuko can almost perfectly imagine a young Sokka, buzzing with the excitement of his first big hunting trip, bundled up in this very cave with his father to rest as they wait to take the next step.

It makes Zuko’s heart flip wildly in his chest. He’d meant to wait a little longer, until after they’d settled in and had a chance to eat, but he knows, with an almost cosmic certainty, that it’s now or never.

“Sokka,” he says. “I need to ask you something.”

Sokka’s carefree expression falls, alarmed by Zuko’s serious tone. “What is it?”

Zuko extinguishes the flame in his palm and pulls off his other glove, tucking them both into the belt at his waist. Reaching down into the collar of his parka, Zuko closes his fingers around the Crown Prince hairpiece, the metal warm from the heat of his body. He pulls it out with trembling hands, takes the few steps to stand in front of Sokka, and gets down on one knee.

His heart feels like it’s trying to hammer its way out of his ribcage. He clears his throat, once, twice, and tries to steady himself.

“Sokka,” he starts, and his voice cracks. He can’t bring himself to look at Sokka’s face, is too scared of what he’ll find there, so he focuses his gaze on the fur trim of Sokka’s parka.

“Sokka,” he tries again, and this time his voice is steady, thank Agni. The words that he’s rehearsed a thousand times slip easily off his tongue. “You are the best person I know. You’re my closest friend, and my most trusted confidant. I trust you with my life. You could ask for anything in the world and I would give it to you. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.”

Here, his voice falters, and he swallows. He’s given thousands of speeches in his life, begged for forgiveness at the hands of his family, but this is the hardest question he’s had to ask yet.

“Sokka, will you marry me?”

There’s a beat of silence. Zuko forces himself to look up.He finds Sokka staring back at him, face frozen in shock.

And then Sokka begins to laugh. He sounds a little hysterical, clapping his hand over his forehead, and Zuko doesn’t quite know how to react, but he can feel his stomach sinking with dread.

Was he really that pitiful? Is marrying him such a ridiculous idea?

Before Zuko can begin to spiral, though, Sokka barks out, “Oh, Dad, you bastard! You knew about this, didn’t you?” and falls to his knees in front of Zuko. He covers Zuko’s hands with his own, his palms big and warm.

“Sokka, what—” Zuko begins.

“Shh, just—give me a second,” Sokka says, and begins to rifle frantically around in his parka. He finally finds what he’s looking for, and pulls it out with a triumphant, “Aha!”

He holds it out flat in his palms for Zuko to see. It’s a betrothal necklace.

The band is made of soft leather, dyed a deep royal blue, and a white soapstone pendant dangles from the centre. Etched into the stone with careful, delicate lines is a small, curling flame.

“Zuko, you stupid jerk. I brought you out here so I could propose to _you._ I had a whole romantic speech planned and everything.” He laughs, and it sounds suspiciously watery. “You just had to go and beat me to it, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says, chagrined. “Is that a yes, though?”

“Spirits, you’re such an idiot,” Sokka says, and drags him into a kiss.

He helps Zuko put the betrothal necklace on; it fits perfectly around his neck, exactly the right size, the stone pendant settling naturally in the hollow of his throat. Sokka sits back, takes one look at him, and immediately begins to cry.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sokka blubbers, wiping at his tears. “It’s just—Agni, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Your turn,” Zuko says, and pulls Sokka’s head down before he can see how misty his own eyes are getting. He pulls the tie out of Sokka’s hair, and can’t help running his fingers through it a few times, marvelling at its softness, before gathering it back up. His hands tremble as he threads Sokka’s hair through the headpiece, arranging it into a topknot and sticking it with the pin.

“There,” Zuko says, his voice wavering. Sokka raises his head, and Zuko’s breath catches in his throat, and oh, yes, he’s crying now too.

He’s done a terrible job of putting the headpiece in. It hangs lopsided on Sokka’s head, and there are so many strands falling out of it that it can barely be considered a proper topknot. It’s messy, and rushed, and almost certainly a disgrace to his ancestors—but as Sokka smiles at him, eyes wet and shining in the gentle glow of the lamp, Zuko can’t help but think that he is the most breathtaking sight he’s ever seen.

—

The mid-morning sun streams in through the windows, basking the room in a warm orange light. From the bed comes a familiar snort, followed by the rustling of sheets. Zuko looks up over the rim of his glasses from the trade reports he’s reviewing and meets Sokka’s sleepy gaze from across the room.

“Good morning, love,” Zuko says. He smiles at Sokka’s rumpled appearance, his disastrous bed head.

“Hey, handsome,” Sokka croaks, and then yawns spectacularly. He takes a minute to stumble out of bed, and then ambles over to Zuko’s desk. He comes up behind Zuko and leans down to wrap his arms around his chest, pressing a kiss to his temple. Zuko leans back into his embrace with a contented hum.

“Did you have a nice sleep?” Zuko says, his eyes already skimming the report again. He has a whole stack of these to finish before noon.

“Mhm,” Sokka says. He ducks his head to kiss Zuko’s cheek, and Zuko swats at him.

“Ugh, stop that, you asshole,” Zuko whines, trying to squirm away.

“What? You don’t like the feel of my stubble against your perfect baby face?” Sokka teases, and chases him to rub his cheek against Zuko’s. His stubble scratches roughly against Zuko’s jaw, and Zuko yelps and drops his papers to push his face away.

“Go wash up, dumbass,” Zuko says, scowling. “Your mouth smells like something died in there.”

“Aw, so grumpy,” Sokka teases, his eyes crinkled up with mirth.

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Just go. I have to finish these anyways,” he says, gesturing to the reports.

Sokka presses another kiss to his cheek and then saunters off as Zuko sputters angrily. Despite his protests, Zuko turns to watch him go, admiring the curve of his ass as he heads towards the bathroom. Sokka catches him staring and grins; Zuko shoots him a halfhearted glare.

He turns his attention back to the reports, and manages to get through another four of them by the time Sokka emerges from the bathroom, hair tamed and considerably more bright-eyed. Hewastes no time getting all up in Zuko’s space again, head tilted expectantly for a kiss, which Zuko obliges now that he’s brushed his teeth.

“How are those reports coming?” Sokka asks, gazing curiously down at the parchment in Zuko’s hand.

Zuko sighs and takes off his reading glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “They’re coming.”

“You want any help?”

“Shouldn’t you worry about your own responsibilities? You have a meeting with the Earth Kingdom ambassador in, like, half an hour.”

“Shit, is it already that late?” Sokka asks, whipping around to check the clock on the far wall.

Zuko hums.

“Fuck.” Sokka’s warmth abruptly disappears as he dashes over to the dresser and proceeds to throw his clothes on as quickly as possible. Zuko watches, bemused, as he nearly trips trying to pull his pants on. As he makes his way back over, Sokka takes a detour to snatch Zuko’s crown off the bedside table, almost knocking the lamp over in his haste.

“Here, let me do your hair real quick,” he says. Zuko lowers his report and obediently tilts his head back so Sokka can gather his hair up into a topknot. It’s Zuko’s favourite part of their morning routine, and one that Sokka never skips out on, so he always makes sure to give him his full attention when he does it.

That routine is broken, though, when Sokka stills his movements all of a sudden and says, “Tui and La.”

Zuko’s stomach drops at Sokka’s tone. “What? What is it?”

Sokka laughs, sounding disbelieving. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Just—spirits, Zuko, you have a grey hair.”

“ _What?”_

“Here, look.” Sokka pulls a single strand of hair away from the others and dangles it in front of Zuko’s face. Zuko nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look at it, but—

Yep, that is definitely a grey hair.

“What the fuck,” Zuko says.

Sokka laughs even harder at that. “Do you want me to pull it out?”

Zuko almost says yes, but then he pauses, thinks about it, and sighs. “No. Leave it. There’s bound to be more of them, anyways.”

“Here, I’ll try to hide it at least,” Sokka says, gathering up Zuko’s hair again, pulling a few strands here and there to arrange it just so. He takes the crown and slides it into the topknot, then takes a step back to admire his work. “There, you can’t even tell.”

Zuko slumps forward against his desk with a groan, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I already have grey hairs. I’m not even thirty yet.”

Sokka laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Honestly, with the amount of stress you’re under, I’m surprised you weren’t completely grey by the time you turned twenty.”

“I hate you,” Zuko says.

“Aw, cheer up, babe. At least you’ll make a sexy silver fox bat.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now?” Zuko says, raising his head to scowl at him.

“Oh, shit. Oops.” Sokka swoops down and presses a brief kiss to Zuko’s lips. “I love you. See you for dinner?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Cool. Later, old man.” Sokka pecks Zuko again before he can protest, and then he’s out the door, the curtains fluttering with the force of his exit.

Zuko picks up his forgotten report. He keeps trying to read through it, but his mind is elsewhere, and he can’t make it past the first few lines. His gaze keeps wandering around the room, from the rumpled bedsheets, to the shared dresser overflowing with clothes, to the decorative shelves stacked with various knickknacks from Sokka’s travels around the world.

He pulls absently at his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. His glasses glint mockingly at him from where they’re sitting on his desk. Agni, he really is growing old, isn’t he?

Or maybe he’s just being dramatic. He _is_ only twenty-nine.

The door suddenly bursts open again, and Sokka barrels back in, shouting, “Forgot something!” He makes a beeline for his own desk, grabs the waiting stack of scrolls, and is out the door again with a hurried, “Love you!” and a kiss blown in Zuko’s direction.

Zuko stares down at his report, a fond smile curving his lips.

Either way, it’s a good thing there’s nobody he’d rather grow old with.

**Author's Note:**

> my friend made some amazing fanart of this fic [here](https://drowthelynes.tumblr.com/post/620829761929986048/so-you-know-ambre-dickpuncher420s-latest-fic), make sure to go check it out!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [five](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819802) by [lesbianophelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia)




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